Crushed Hell, Ripped Heaven Open
by hallowgirlfrommars
Summary: "They are black eyes and blue, chains and wings, ripping metal and tearing feathers, heaven and hell locked in a stare. They are an angel and a demon and they are heaven and hell and sometimes, they don't know which is which." They are heaven and hell, crushed together and ripped open. Destiel/Holy Hell. Post s9. Inspired by the song "Devils Don't Fly."


**So, this darker little fic was inspired by the song Devils Don't Fly by Natalia Kills. And the whole Holy Hell Dynamic. Leave a review :)**

* * *

_When everyone that holds my hand_

_Gets cut from all the thorns_

_I used to put my ear against the wall_

_To hear the screams, to hear the fall_

_More reasons to escape it all..._

_But God, we almost had it all_

_But I got chains and you got wings_

_You know that life ain't fair sometimes_

_Devils don't fly_

_But I try-Natalia Kills_

* * *

He would know without the eyes. He would know without the black depths, two holes that stare at him. He would know without those eyes that are not Dean's.

He would know that this was not Dean.

The demon steps forward and it's Dean's hands that reach round, Dean's hands that close on the feathers of Castiel's wings, and tug hard, making him cry out. It is Dean but it is not Dean, and Castiel feels something crack inside his chest, something that makes his eyes burn.

"What are you thinking of, Cas?" and it is Dean's voice but it is not Dean's voice and those words are chains, chains digging into Castiel's skin.

"You're not him" he says and he pushes him, him, it, away but Dean is standing there, with those black eyes, and those hands on his shoulders and those fingers grinding into Castiel's wings.

"I could be" he says and Castiel shakes his head because there is no way this thing, this _creature _in front of him is Dean Winchester. It's not Dean, who laughs with his arm around Castiel's shoulders and holds pieces of pie to his lips and says to Castiel with their eyes locked "I need you."

Castiel shakes and shakes his head because this thing is not Dean and nothing will ever convince him that it is.

Dean-the thing that calls itself Dean-lets his lip curl and those fingers bite down into feathers again but Castiel doesn't make any sound this time. He just stares and remembers his hand over Dean Winchester's mouth and those eyes narrowed, as Castiel held the angel blade to his skin, as he smeared evidence of his betrayal, of his back turned on his family, on the wall, as he turned round, placing himself firmly at Dean Winchester's side.

"This is Dean Winchester" and the fingers knot more and more tightly in those feathers. "This?" and the words are inches from Castiel's mouth. "This is what's _inside."_

And the words seem to crack Castiel's heart in two because they're the words he's fought against since those black eyes first opened, opened and found his, and brought the earth to a crashing halt because no matter what else it has stood through, it seems inconceivable that a single human heart could keep beating after this.

* * *

The angel always watches him and Dean keeps watching him. He watches and watches through his black eyes.

The angel hates to watch him these days, Dean knows, but he also knows he can't stop. And every so often, the blue eyes will flicker away from the black and that look will flicker across Castiel's face, as if he's watching those black eyes open for the first time all over again.

Dean remembers when he was human and Castiel's eyes filled his dreams, though he'd never admit it.

But now, whenever he looks at those big blue eyes, he wants to grind his hands into those wings and smash his mouth into Castiel's. He wants to take what the angel has to give, their mouths hot and open against each other, but he doesn't want to hold on. He wants to push away.

The Dean from before would have wanted to hold on.

But those memories are like white-hot chains digging into his skin, metal too taut and tight, and he's never more aware of them then when he sees Castiel's wings, with that blue-eyed gaze and that pout of the lips and that thing in the air that seems to crackle between them. And he hates the way Castiel stares in the opposite direction, those lips pursed, that face carefully blank. He wants Castiel slamming him against the wall. He wants those eyes blazing.

He wants under the angel's skin and he doesn't care if it's from who he is or who he used to be.

* * *

Castiel hasn't prayed in a while, because there's no one left to hear.

But when those eyes turn black and stare into his, and that mouth moves and that voice that is Dean's but not Dean's whispers those words, he whispers prayers through his lips that no one can hear. He whispers prayers that part of him prays no one hears and part of him begs, that someone, anyone, would hear, in case there's even one thing they could do about it.

He is an angel but more and more often recently, when Castiel stares into the mirror in the bathroom, and remembers Dean Winchester turning round-_Come on, Cas, personal space-_or remembers the first time he saw Dean after he stumbled out of purgatory, clothes ragged-_Hello, Dean-_, when Castiel is alone and gripping the sides of the sink until it feels as if his knuckles will burst through the skin, when he thinks of what he failed to do-

_Ultimately, it was all about saving one human._

And he thinks of Dean Winchester's eyes, hazel-green that crinkle in a smile, and he thinks of them now, black as night, darker than anything Castiel has seen in hell or purgatory.

And what Castiel doesn't tell anyone, is that whenever he raises his head and stares into the mirror, he half expects to see the same eyes staring back at him.

If he could, he would reach inside Dean Winchester and drag him out, and destroy this shell of him, this black-eyed monster that talks with his voice and walks with his step and laughs with his mouth and he would pull and he would save Dean Winchester if he burnt, burnt to shreds, in the attempt.

But he is gone. And for that, Castiel stares and stares and waits for his own eyes to turn black.

And the darkest, most hidden part of him, the one that feels as if his heart is being slowly carved open, the part that strokes his skin with whispers that burn, wishes they would.

* * *

Dean can remember fear. And he can remember regret.

He remembers Castiel's hand slipping out of his. He remembers the vision of purgatory vanishing. He remembers the way he sank to the ground, the way he stared at his hands, as if, if he just held on long enough, Castiel's fingers would slide back into his and squeeze and how many seconds passed before he realised he was gone.

He remembers but he doesn't feel. Or, not the same way.

Now, he wants to hold Castiel to him, not let him wriggle away. Now, he wants Castiel's eyes on him. Big, blue eyes. The way they blink at him, that confused look on his face. The way the angel stares at him, those eyes huge, as if he doesn't realise who or what he's seeing at all.

Dean remembers when Dean Winchester used to feel regret. Remembers Castiel's eyes, as he fell away. Remembers the way Dean Winchester used to wake, face pressed into his pillow too tight, sheets wrapped with sweat, as he saw them die over and over again in his dreams. Remembers those eyes, those eyes and how much it hurt whenever he thought what it was like for those eyes to fall.

Dean remembers how even hugging them felt like poison, as fatal as pouring venom, black as night, down their throats, how each word of his might as well have cut a line through their skin. Because when he spoke, when he touched, they were hurt, and there was never anywhere to run that would make him forget.

But now, Dean Winchester doesn't feel regret because he is not Dean Winchester anymore.

* * *

When Castiel chains what used to be Dean Winchester up, it is for his own good. It is because chains are what can keep him and everyone else safe.

It is not because Castiel hates to look at him, hates to touch him and see him, because it reminds him all over again, that Dean Winchester is gone.

And the thing that is in his place is snarling back at him.

"What is it, Cas?" and Castiel has never hated anything so much as the sound of his nickname, Dean's name for him, on this Dean's lips. He thought he knew hate before, but this is deeper, something that seems to be flooding the heart of him, cold and hard and hurting, until he wonders if he too will slowly wither away, until all that is left for both of them are the hearts of two demons.

"It's for your own protection" he says and his voice comes out lower than usual and Dean Winchester stares back, with eyes that are his for a moment, before they flicker black once again.

"Yeah?" and the demon eyes stare back. "Or is it for yours?"

Castiel stares back. "I have no need of protection."

And then that hand reaches out and strokes down the edge of Castiel's jaw. The finger is soft, quick, gentle, but the mouth is twisted into a sneer.

"Do you miss me?" Dean Winchester says and his hand is hot against Castiel's cheek, and Castiel doesn't know why he doesn't pull away.

Because this is all he can get.

Dean Winchester's mouth sneers and his voice is still whispering. "You his angel?" he says and Castiel feels his mouth go dry because this, this secret that crawls under his skin, these thoughts that have hidden where even he can't find them, this, this, this-and now Dean Winchester is whispering the truth of it through twisted lips and black eyes.

"Come on, Cas" and the voice is teasing, playful now and it turns out there is something Castiel can hate more than the sound of his name. "You think I don't remember the way you used to watch me? You think I don't remember-" and the hand fastens on his arm, too tight, too tight, and it hurts so much that Castiel wants to scream but not because it feels bad. "Way you like to stand too close?"

And then Dean Winchester leans forward and Castiel tries to pull back. They are an angel and a demon and neither one will back down.

And then Dean Winchester lunges forward and Castiel's hands slam into his shoulders, and throw him against the wall. And Dean Winchester laughs, and the sound rings around the room, hollow and empty and far, far too raw.

"Wanted to do that for ages, haven't you, Cas?" because Castiel is staring at him with those big blue eyes and that chest heaving and falling, and all the thing Dean Winchester has become can do is laugh. The chains are digging, digging deep into his skin, and as he moves, smears of blood are staining the metal.

They've become black eyes on blue, a demon and an angel, and they are heaven and hell, crushed together and ripped open at once.

And that's why he drags Castiel's mouth to his because he'll have what he wants and the angel will too, particularly if he doesn't know what that is.

Castiel's mouth opens against Dean's for a second. There is a second of hot, open-mouthed kissing and Dean's tongue is duelling with his and for a second, it is _Dean, Dean, Dean-_

And then it is Castiel staggering backwards, his mouth empty and cold with the loneliness because this is not Dean. This is a demon and a nightmare and everything ending.

And Dean Winchester's eyes and mouth laugh. "Your feathers like that, huh, Cas?" and Castiel's wings are there, and he didn't even notice.

And Dean Winchester falls back against the wall, chains in his skin, and for one moment, his hands _grasp _and squeeze Castiel's feathers until pain shoots through his skin, and he welcomes it, welcomes it for a moment, before Dean Winchester lets go.

"Heaven and hell, Cas" and it laughs, the thing that Dean Winchester is now laughs. "Heaven and hell."

Castiel staggers back. He can feel his eyes flood with hot liquid, he can feel his mouth burning, where his or Dean's teeth have cut at the skin of his cheek, a salty taste on his tongue. But he can feel his heart slamming against his chest and he can feel the way the world seems to shake around him for a moment as black and blue eyes meet.

There are chains digging and wings straggling and Castiel turns and walks up the steps without another word. But he can still hear the laughter dying behind him, but he doesn't look back, not until he's outside the room, not until he can't hear anymore.

But it still echoes inside his head, and it always will.

* * *

They are black eyes on blue, chains and wings, metal ripping and tearing feathers, heaven and hell locked in a stare. They are an angel and a demon, and they are heaven and hell, and sometimes they don't know which is which.

And they are blue eyes locked into black, and hate whispering against skin and the destroyers of everything in-between and heaven staring into hell.

And they will burn, burn until there is nothing left.

* * *

_Angels were never meant to fall_

_And you were the loveliest of all_

_If I thought God could fix it _

_I'd pray for your forgiveness_

_But I've been cast down, thrown out_

_When I crossed to the other side.._

_But God, we almost had it all_

_But I got chains and you got wings_

_You know that life ain't fair sometimes_

_Devils don't fly-Natalia Kills_

* * *

**Leave a review if you liked it :)**


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